


Not Good Enough

by Patchwork drabbles (PurplePatchwork)



Series: RusAme Drabbles [66]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Eating Disorders, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-11 02:19:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13514688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurplePatchwork/pseuds/Patchwork%20drabbles
Summary: Ivan has noticed some negative changes in Alfred after the other starts paying a little too much attention to what others say about him.





	Not Good Enough

Ivan immediately noticed the changes Alfred had undergone. Walking into the world meeting, he was wearing only a shirt on this hot summer day, sturdy muscles clearly showing through the thin fabric. Alfred had been working out, and he seemed to be quite pleased with himself, enthusiastically glancing around, hoping for approval. Ivan noticed, but didn’t tell.

Arthur walked into the room after the American, directing all his attention to angrily chattering with France, causing him to bump into Alfred. With a groan he stumbled back, Alfred quickly spinning on his heels to make sure everything was all right with the other.

“Easy on the merchandise,” he laughed, always trying to ease the pain with a joke.

Arthur, rubbing his arm, sent him an annoyed glare. “I’m sorry, but it’s your fault as well for standing in the doorway! Move along, your mass is keeping everyone up.”

While it definitely wasn’t the first time Arthur had made a jab at Alfred’s weight, Ivan could pinpoint the exact moment in which Alfred froze up, mutely stepping aside to let the others through. Alfred, who was always boisterously bragging about something or other, now looked down at himself, at all the work he had put into making himself look extra nice.

Ivan’s gaze never left the American as he slowly made his way to his seat, looking hopeful every time someone addressed him, expression falling more and more every time those words just contained a jab or sneer, an impatient growl for him to be seated already, they were starting. Nobody seemed to notice how downtrodden the usually upbeat nation currently was, nobody cared, or perhaps they were even glad his ego wasn’t being fed for once.

Ivan folded his hands, lips forming a thin, disapproving line. While he too thought Alfred’s ego could do with a little less feeding from time to time, he knew Alfred lived on praise. Still, he said nothing, for their current relations didn’t allow amiability.

Never mind. Everyone had a bad day now and then. Alfred would get over it, as he always did.

* * *

A couple of months had passed. Ivan once more found himself staring at that usually handsome face, this time noting changes of an entirely different calibre.

Instead of looking like he had spent the last few weeks training full-throttle, something was off. Alfred had dark bags under his eyes, and his face seemed somehow less full. It was autumn now, so most men wore a clean suit, making it harder to see what lay underneath. Alfred looked tired, but Ivan could only guess at the reason.

Ivan was almost disturbed by his own quick perception; surely he hadn’t been studying America _that_ closely. Then again, it had become a habit these past few decades, perhaps a habit he had yet to overcome, or never would.

Once more, Alfred seemed to be on high alert, eyes lighting up whenever he was spoken to, but now again, amidst the usual banter and friendly chitchat, no one acknowledged his appearance, some even continued to laugh about his appetite. Was Ivan truly the only one to notice? Impossible.

After the meeting, he waited until most of the others had left, before moving to the other side of the room. Alfred saw him coming, quickly squared his back.

“Ivan,” he said, giving a formal nod. They _had_ returned to first-name basis, but any further intimacy was still a delicate subject.

Ivan opened his mouth to speak, hesitated. Who was he to show concern? Maybe Alfred would grow defensive. Maybe he was just a little overworked. He was going through difficult times, but then again, they all were. Natural disasters, war, politics and economy. There was always _something_ on their mind, ready to assault at a moment’s notice, keeping them awake at night.

Alfred’s watched gave a few short peeps, an alarm for him to get going. Alfred closed his suitcase, sent Ivan a nervous smile, as if it physically hurt him to stand so close to him, without exchanging words. Ivan watched him move out of the room, never getting the chance to speak.

Next time. If Alfred still looked troubled then, he would make a comment.

* * *

A year. Alfred wasn’t getting better. On the contrary.

Ivan knew Alfred had taken up the habit of smoking again, something he hadn’t done in quite a while. Nothing special. That alone was not a reason for worry, especially seeing as nations could not die of human diseases.

But he looked worse for wear, worse than Ivan had ever seen him. He looked almost hollow, as if something was slowly destroying him from the inside out, draining his once youthful features of life. His suit was hanging too loosely off his body, making Ivan highly suspicious of what he would find underneath.

Alfred came in smoking, acting irritated when he was told to put out his cigarette. On edge. Naturally, this only caused Arthur to berate him on his childish behaviour, which in turn further irked Alfred’s ire. There were some comments showing concern, “Alfred, you look horrible.” “You haven’t finally decided to go on a diet, have you?” “I told you living on McDonald’s alone isn’t good for your health.”

Alfred let it all wash over him, expression cold and uncaring.

Ivan heard not a word of the presentations, rambling off his own text when it was his turn. Alfred’s health really wasn’t his concern. None of his business. Something he should stay far away from.

Yet the very instant the meeting ended, Ivan briskly walked over to Alfred’s end of the table, grabbing his shoulder, surprised at how bony it felt in his grip.

Alfred looked up, startled, his eyes giving a spark of energy.

Ivan felt himself clamming up again. Not his concern. Not his.

He licked his lips. Careful now. “Do you…want to go out for a drink?”

Those around them appeared to be shocked at the simple request, and really, Ivan couldn’t blame them. How long had it been since they had done something together, as friends, not nations? How short ago had it been that only a single word could be the perfect leeway into a battle of perseverance, the stakes being their wit?

To his surprise, Alfred agreed. Ivan felt both relieved and anxious. But he had to make sure.

The moment they left the building, Alfred lit another cigarette, taking a drag with practiced ease, letting out a long satisfied sigh afterwards.

They didn’t speak as they searched for a good place, finally opting for a small coffee shop on a corner, Alfred crushing his cigarette under a heel before going inside. Ivan ordered tea with honey, Alfred settled for a doppio. Caffeine and nicotine. An unhealthy combination if ever Ivan saw one.

They chose a table in the very back of the establishment, dimly lit, surrounded by soothing potted plants. Alfred downed his coffee in one go, leant back in his chair, pulling at his tie.

“It’s cold in here. Are you cold?”

Ivan slowly shook his head. Now that they were closer, he noticed other little details. The flatness of his hair. He had been biting his nails. Utter exhaustion. This was more. Far more.

Alfred noticed him staring, uncomfortably leant over the table, arms folded. “So. What did you want to talk about?”

“You,” Ivan said bluntly, and when Alfred’s brow dipped into a heavy frown, he wished he could take back the words.

“Okay,” Alfred said, suspicious. “What about me? Look, if it’s politics, you could’ve just—“

Ivan cleared his throat, interrupting the other. “No, not politics. Personal business.”

An eyebrow was quirked. His hands were fiddling with the tiny empty cup. _Go on._

Ivan laced his fingers together. Why was it so hard to speak? When they were fighting, the words came so easily. Now, he had to grasp for every syllable, struggling to keep his head above water, constantly on the verge of drowning.

“I…noticed you have been slightly less energetic these last meetings.”

Alfred shrugged. “Busy year. Surely you can understand that.”

Ivan shook his head, gaze piercing as he forced himself to look Alfred in the eye, not missing the small shiver this caused in his companion.

“No. It is not that. You have been busy before, but not like this. There is something you are not telling me.”

Alfred tipped his chair onto two legs, face expressionless. “Of course I’m not telling you everything, Ivan. I’m not a young country anymore. We can’t just go back to how we were, can we?” His tone held both stern consternation and a hint of hopefulness, as if he _wanted_ Ivan to prove him wrong.

Ivan’s heart squeezed together painfully. He wanted to, so badly, but he couldn’t. Alfred was trying to distract him from the issue at hand.

“This is not about…about us,” he ground out, stomach dropping to the floor as Alfred scrunched up his face in dismay, yet he persevered. “You look unhealthy. Like—“ _As if…_ “Like you have not been eating.”

Alfred quickly rose, chair clattering to the floor. The barista sent them a worried glance, but Ivan quietly shook his head at the girl before refocusing on Alfred. And just in time; the swift movement proved too much, and Ivan watched Alfred stumble back, one hand flying to his head. Ivan reacted almost instinctively, hand shooting out, clasping around Alfred’s wrist (so thin he had room to spare) in an attempt to keep him from falling.

Alfred groaned, snatching his hand back, but allowing Ivan to pick up the chair and push him down into it.

Ivan crouched in front of Alfred, hesitating, before placing a hand on each side of the other’s body. Not an ounce of mass.

“What are you doing,” Alfred hissed, obviously angry at Ivan’s intrusive behaviour. His voice trailed off when Ivan looked up, eyes shining in high alarm.

“You are nothing but skin and bones,” he whispered, wondering how he ever could have let it come this far. Perhaps if that one time, he had said something, complimented Alfred on his efforts. If he had been more supportive from the start, not let himself be held back by the history of their nations.

“Keep. Your hands. Off.”

Ivan retracted, but continued to kneel right in front of him. “Alfred, why are you doing this to yourself? Why are you letting them get to you? If this is about what Arthur said—“

“It’s not!” Alfred yelled, immediately silencing his companion. The American was panting from their discussion, so little to wear him out. Only little over a year ago he had been brimming with energy. Look at him now.

“Then why?” Ivan was almost afraid to hear the answer.

Alfred didn’t look at him. At first it seemed like he wasn’t going to elaborate, but he spoke after a moment of silence.

“I just wanted to be someone they could look up to. You know, as one of the driving forces of this world.” His tone sounded almost apologetic, as if a simple “sorry” could take back all those years of distrust, as if he had to apologise for being a superpower. “I wanted everybody to like me. To fit their ideal of what a superpower should really look like.”

“And this is what you came up with?”

Alfred finally looked back at him, more exhausted than ever. “It’s never enough. No matter what I do, I can’t seem to satisfy their needs. They don’t like me muscular, they don’t like me thin, they don’t like me loud or quiet, tanned or pale, no matter what I do, it’s never enough!” He shouted the last part, and Ivan felt something inside him break.

He didn’t know why he did it. Hadn’t planned on it. But suddenly he found himself to be leaning over Alfred, cheek to cheek, arms firmly on top of his back. Alfred sat there, unmoving, breath held.

“And when did you ever listen to what others think of you?” he mumbled, afraid to break the spell if he spoke too loudly. “You were…beautiful. Always have been. I cannot stand seeing you like this, this…submissive. Frail. Fragile.”

He felt more than heard Alfred begin to sob, quietly, as if he was afraid Ivan would know. Ivan didn’t comment, let him believe his secrets were safe.

“I know it is not up to me to tell you this. But please, stop. Not for me, but for yourself, your country, your people. America should be lively and fun-loving, not—“ Not this.

He knew that a hug and a handful of sweet nothings wouldn’t fix the problems. But when he finally felt two trembling arms cling to his back, he knew that at least, Alfred was listening. And hopefully, he would remember Ivan’s words. All of them.

He didn’t say it, but he hoped Alfred knew. That Ivan was there for him if a helping hand was required. Not beside, not yet, but always close enough to reach out and touch.


End file.
